Your reflections are a bomb in a world that says commit suicide quietly. Your Rant is Life. So Rant. And Post Blog Posts with really long titles. Who cares?


I have reached the annoying age

Where I am asking too many questions about things

The family has worked hard at burying.

I have been drinking wine from the same wine glass for the past few days

My vagina is not the only thing that is bleeding

I’m a happy person

I keep telling myself

The sadness does not believe me

The sadness does not leave

I keep setting a day/date for my social media hiatus

I have just come back. I need to go away again.

I’m afraid of travelling

But I don’t know how to stay either

I’m itchy. And indecisive.

[Unlove the married somebody.]

I don’t know when I’ve become this transparent somebody

Home feels weird and loaded

I don’t want to be the person I have constructed here

I feel stupid

The last time I felt stupid was in high school

And first-year varsity

Academia has a way of making even the most brilliant people feel small

My cape is made of wounds and disappointment today

I don’t want to fly around and save other people or even myself in that

I don’t know if people would even take a flawed human who poses as a superhero seriously

We all see through each other

But we pretend like we don’t

We attend to the things that are less uncomfortable

All these rejection letters in my mail box are destabilising

I don’t feel like #blackgirlmagic or #slayage today

My periods are fucking with me

I keep blaming my impoliteness on jetlag

I want to go away for a bit

I need to leave my heart behind; it’s always causing trouble

They don’t tell you that when your heart breaks

It is not always because of people

This world is going to give me a heart attack


I need to show up for me

My niece looks like my grandmother

These people really do come back in various forms

I was throwing my Gran in the air yesterday

I put my Gran to sleep yesterday

I dropped the phone on someone important earlier

I probably should backspace this free-write

I probably should edit this later

I probably shouldn’t post this either

I probably will and not know why

And possibly take it down a few hours later

I hope I am not this predictable

I have to do poems this weekend

I don’t want to do poems

Or I do

But I can’t look at my poems lately

I feel small

I feel insignificant and invisible

There is no manual for joy/self-love

Or getting yourself out of the gutter

Admitting that you really wanted that thing is hard

Dealing with not getting it is uh bitch

The tears are throwing a tantrum

And sitting stubbornly in my diaphragm and throat

Maybe I am exhausted

I have not unpacked my suitcase

Or tackled the to-do list

Admin is not good for insanity

On some level, we all suffer from some sort of dementia

“How can someone be so articulate and so inarticulate at the same time”

My mind keeps punishing me for that interview

I wish I could pull a Lazarus on the ones who have passed on in my life

I wish I were Jesus

Not for the miracles or resurrection juju

But for the privilege and legacy

And immunity

This country is a sewerage

Black people – more specifically black wom*n a are caught up in its shit

It’s not healthy you know, living in shit

And pretending like you don’t stink

All the time:  I’m fine!

We say.


I need to read plays

Can I even direct?

Am I even a writer?

Self-doubt tied up in jetlag and menstruation is another kind of suicide

I should hike tomorrow

Or read a book somewhere quiet

I am a firm believer of hot showers, good company and good music

And taking it moment by moment

Silence is another kind of suicide

I appreciate the ones who allow me space and time

To indulge in the Blacklist and Orange is the new black

And ramblings about absolutely nothing

And everything important (to me)

I really love listening and twerking to Gospel music

But every time I get into feeling the spirit whatever

And close my eyes to raise my hands (the way that I was taught)

I picture the white-hippie-with-nail-piercings

And my twerk revolution can’t handle that kind of oppression

So I am back to square zero

Back to the unlearning and deleting

And purging things I have no idea what I would sound like

If they were to be muted

What if I start over?

I need to start over.

Every day

I am going to start over

I think

For sanity’s sake.

The same amount of brilliance and beauty

is the same dosage of bullshit in dope human beings

Just something to remember.



Don’t be afraid of the silence

Don’t be afraid of hearing your own voice

Don’t be afraid of sounding your own voice

People are always projecting

Don’t wallow in your own fears

You will never live

Take a train. Even if it scares you

Don’t say to yourself “talk less about yourself”

See yourself more often

Even when they call you self-indulgent

Especially when they call you self-indulgent

Listen more

Practice kindness more

Write what you like

Reflect more

Don’t be afraid of vulnerability

Don’t regret the decisions you make intoxicated

Have more wine

Admit that you love wine

Don’t apologise for loving wine

Drink as much water though







Allow the rejection in

Move forward

But you are not made of steel or iron or your mother and her mother’s genes

Don’t hold on to things that have a no grip

Don’t get a grip if you don’t want to

Write and write whatever you want

Vacillate between the self-doubt and the confidence

You will always be a contradiction

Your work will do surgery on you

Only because the pain and the experiences were real

Admit you did not cry about some of it

Admit that you did not get mad about some of it

Don’t crawl back into a prisoning silence

Call your mother

Send your father pictures of Washington

Accept that they are trying

Take it one day at a time

You are still figuring this out

Allow the process of growth

Miss the ones that have passed on

Name them if you must

The world will not stop for you

You have to slow down-for you

Sleep more

Breathe more

Eat more healthy stuff

You are enough

All the time

You are here

You will be something

You are already something

Say today it hurts

Today it is sore

Today it’s hard to breathe

Do not edit this poem

Do not censor or attempt to dilute the past

Write about God and church for as long as it takes to purge you of your conditioning

Love as many souls as you need to

Love in ways that make sense for you

A lot of the bullshit will pass

The elders can testify

More importantly

One day at a time:








7 thoughts on “Your reflections are a bomb in a world that says commit suicide quietly. Your Rant is Life. So Rant. And Post Blog Posts with really long titles. Who cares?

  1. KOLEKA PUTUMA! SISI you are powerful beyond…shit mann! Ukrwanda(i mean that in a good way)…I am a fucked up black wom*n and its alright

  2. Pingback: Your reflections are a bomb in a world that says commit suicide quietly. Your Rant is Life. So Rant. And Post Blog Posts with really long titles. Who cares? – WalksofFaith

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